Do Guardian Angels Get Promotions?

I've had a weird day.

To be honest, it started out with me in an awful mood, but very quickly my entire life changed just a little bit. There is a fantastic passage in The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul, my favorite book by Douglas Adams, that describes how if you manage to turn your body "billionth part of a billionth part of a degree" you find yourself in Asgard, homeland of the Norse Gods. Obviously, I don't think I'm there. But there was a point today at which I decided that I believe in parallel universes and the soul's ability to transfer in and out of them. I haven't yet figured out if that fits in with the Episcopalian religion yet, but that's for another time.

I woke up in a foul mood. The kids were absolute shits last night and 66% of them were sent to bed without finishing their supper. I went to bed early too, although thankfully, Leah did not send me there because I wasn't listening to her. Anyway, I woke up with the badly misbehaving children still on my mind. Then the shower wouldn't get hot. There is nothing in this world I hate more than having to take a semi-warm shower when I wake up in the morning. I grumbled through helping get the kids ready for school, grumbled Sam into the car, and grumbling, set off for the city.

Sam has a prescribed route we drive to his school that is his favorite. We take a couple of extra turns, but he gets to see the Cheerios plant, the City of Buffalo Fire Boat up close, the City of Buffalo trolley house, HSBC arena, Coke a Cola Stadium, Gramma's work, and he gets to drive over a cobblestone street. We drove in silence past all of these landmarks this morning.

This route puts us on Washington Street in downtown Buffalo. It's a typical Buffalo street, a little small for the amount of traffic that flows on it, but still in better shape than most of the other options. There comes a point on Washington Street where you basically have no choice but to turn left. To continue on straight brings you into Roswell Park Cancer Center, and there are too many morning deliveries and pedestrians in that area to make travel by car efficient at 8:00 in the morning. The left turn occurs at the intersection with Goodell Street. It's an odd intersection by comparison. Goodell is a one-way street with four travel lanes going from my right to my left as we faced it. Washington is a two lane road. Here's the Street view in Google Maps.


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I consider myself a good driver. I've had a couple of speeding tickets and have been in a couple of fender benders, none of which were my fault. I have never actually hit anyone. And as a good driver, I've developed habits that I use to make my driving better. One of which, as most every person who steps into an automobile will agree, is to pull into the intersection when taking a left turn. It makes the turn quicker and lets you get out of the intersection that much faster.

This morning, as I sat silently stewing in my foul moodiness, I didn't pull forward when the light turned green. For the first time in 20 years of driving, I didn't pull in the intersection. I don't know why.

What I do know is that a second after my foot didn't hit the gas, less than a second after my car wasn't pulling into the middle of that intersection waiting to turn left, a 10-wheel dump truck barreled through the red light, directly across what would have been my path, going at least 35 miles per hour.

It would have crushed us.



A few seconds after all the horns of petrified motorists were silenced and normal traffic flow resumed, I started to shiver as I realized what just occurred. I can't explain why and some of you are going to think that I've really started to go over the deep end. But I truly believe that in the instant before that light changed, reality fractured into different dimensional time lines in some way. In a parallel dimension, I pulled into that intersection and we were pulverized. Someone or something grabbed hold of our souls and pulled them into the alternate reality where I didn't step on the gas. Just a billionth part of a billionth part away from where we were previously in the universe.

I more than just a little bit thankful for it, no matter who or what caused it to be.

17 Different Kinds of Awesome

In stark contrast to yesterday's post, let me tell you a little bit about how my brain works. I like Nerd Rock. It pleases me in many ways. Nerd Rock, when you can find musically proficient performers of such, is wonderfully fulfilling. It not only sounds good, but you are most likely dealing with someone who bothered to learn more than the basic three chord rock riff, so there will be some tonal complexity to it. Add to that constant sarcasm, one of my favorite things. Although I'm not an expert, I can admire from a distance. Sprinkle a healthy dose of pop culture references on top, and you get songs like these:

Nun Fight by Paul and Storm:




Tom Cruise Crazy by Jonathon Coulton:




The X-Box Song by Tripod (which I think I've posted here before):




or Even My Baby Loves a Bunch of Authors by Moxy Fruvous:




Although he is the almighty reigning Nerd Rock King, Nerd Rock got its start much earlier than Weird Al Yankovic. It's roots are found, in my humble opinion, with a genius from Harvard (graduated at age 18) named Tom Lehrer. Tom was a nerd's nerd. He wrote musical satire through the 50s and 60s and his self-published albums became cult hits. He took a "break" because he was fired by the TV show he worked for because his songs became too political and because he apparently hated touring.

And this is the truly awesome part: he went to college with Joe Raposo. Does that name sound familiar? It should. You all know at least 5 songs by him. I just finished reading "Street Gang: A Complete History of Sesame Street". Joe was the genius behind the music of Sesame Street and The Electric Company. He brought Lehrer out of retirement to pen "Silent E" and "L-Y" and a bunch of others as well.

I was formally introduced to Tom Lehrer by my 9th Grade Geometry teacher Mrs. Carocari. Her name alone made people want to commit suicide, but she had a twisted sense of humor which one day led her to play this recording for us:




However, for all the greatness of Nerd Rock, you will notice that there are no women included in the above list. Nerd Rock is a manly endeavor. And if you went to college where I did, there were over 5 men for every woman, proving that ratios really, really do matter. I simply hadn't come across the somewhere less than 20% of Nerd Rockers who were female. Until now.



I discovered the genius behind this gem when I encountered a Nerd Rock Nexus, called the Masters of Song Fu, where Nerd Rockers are challenged to write songs with a specific theme in one week. Her name is Molly Lewis. She has a YouTube page with even better material. And her entry into the latest Song Fu contest is an instant classic. Seriously, it's worth a listen. I guarantee your day will improve.

A Big Steaming Pile of Dog Crap on Hollywood’s Lawn

Each year for the past ten, Leah and I have sat down to watch the Academy Awards. Not out of a crazed addiction to award shows or a fanatical devotion to the movies, but as more of a friendly diversion. We have always run betting pools with our friends and/or family as to who would be the winners. This year was no different, other than the fact that I didn’t know that the Awards were this past weekend, had no idea as to who the nominees actually were, and have seen two movies in the last year (Dark Knight & Quantum of Solace).

Luckily, Esther still felt the spirit of competition swell in her bones and organized the pool in my stead. She also proceeded to wipe the floor with me, Leah, John, and whoever else she sent it to. I think she ended up missing one pick the entire night. Esther has obviously invented the flux capacitor.

I usually don’t offer critiques of too many things here on The Fourth Row, but it struck me this morning that the Academy Awards last night were simply awful. And I lost four hours of my life that I can’t get back. So let the vitriol flow.

Hugh Jackman. Hugh was, in my humble opinion, the high point of the show (him and the big band soundtrack). He's not a comedian, but can pull off comedy. He is more of an entertainer than any host I can think of. And he can sing. The opening number was actually pretty good. And Anne Hathaway does indeed have a nice voice as well.

But the “Ode to the Musical” number? That was garbage. All of it. Beyonce. The closet homosexuals from High School Musical. The chubby girl from the Abba movie. Utter garbage. But what’s beautiful about it all is that Jackman knew it. He admitted he was being hokey in the opening number. Anyone could see that he could barely keep the laughter in at times.

The musical medley was supposed to be extravagant. It wasn’t. It was awkward and all-over-the-place, like a spastic child. And Hugh called out its creator at the end as if to say, “Yeah, I did it. But it didn’t change the fact that it still sucked. And so do you for forcing this on me.” Jackman called out Baz Lurman on national television and gave him the velvet gloved middle finger. Absolutely brilliant!

However, even though the show itself was somewhat tolerable, what really got me fuming were the tributes that were paid to all the best actor/supporting actor nominees. While the idea of bringing back a bunch of past winners to have them on hand for congratulations and a better wow factor is half-way decent, the honey dripping soliloquies that vomited from their mouths was gut-wrenching to have to endure.

These people weren’t about to win a Noble Prize. They did not cure cancer. In fact, some of their past movies are so bad they might cause cancer. They are not negotiating world peace or fighting drug-related gang killings in South Central LA. They are getting paid millions upon millions of dollars to play make-believe. They are the ruling class of high profile prima donnas. And God forbid their highly pure mountain spring water is a degree warmer than stipulated in their contract rider. . .

But to watch their reactions to what was oozing out all over their heads you would have thought that there was something truly important going on. The thing I find most fascinating is the fact that all of those speeches were clearly scripted (half the presenters didn't even bother to read them before hand - well done jackasses), yet every single nominee mouthed the words “thank-you” to the speaker as if they had just improvised the entire thing straight from their alcohol soaked hearts. Sophia Loren could barely utter an intelligible word, let alone string them together without a script.

And poor Robert Downey. The Academy really didn’t want him to be nominated. They didn’t even bother to write an original “tribute” to him. They just stole it right from the movie he was nominated for.

So that’s my take on the Oscars. Big Steaming Pile of Dog Crap on Hollywood’s Lawn, with Hugh Jackman tap dancing over the grass. All that being said, I guess we should go see Slumdog Millionaire.

The Fourth Row Brag Book

Okay, it’s time to strut a little bit here at The Fourth Row. We had parent teacher conferences for the twins yesterday. They have both tested at the top of their respective classes in every single category. They were associating word sounds that were two steps above the normal range, or something of that ilk. I actually have no idea what that means at all, but I’m sure it’s very good because their teachers were smiling as they told us. I quickly realized that that the smart kids are the most difficult for the teacher to talk about.

Teacher: Your son is a joy to have in class. He has excellent blah, blah, blah. And he has tested at the top of his class.

Smile at Parents.

Pregnant Pause.

Parents: Oh, thank you so much. He really enjoys every day here. We’re so happy he is doing so well.

And both teachers suggested that we have the twins tested for the gifted program.

And there is literally nothing left to say. Except that took less than a minute, and we have fifteen of our public school taxpayer minutes to fill. So now, instead of filling the ensuing time with advice on how to improve the child's skills at home, the teacher and the aide must expound upon the cute little quirks the each child has and how endearing they have become. Noah is a wonderful block builder. He even puts windows in his buildings. Aidan loves to give hugs to the teacher’s aide. She loves to get them. So nice. So sweet. So Hallmark.

And after every short story, we as parents smile again, laugh on cue, and reiterate how happy we are that they are doing well. By the end of the second “conference” I was grinning on the inside. But then, almost as though it was planned for the climax of the meeting, Aidan’s teacher said to us, “There is one more thing that I’d like to discuss with you.” Her look became very serious. Our smiles faltered, and I wondered what had happened with our lovable, huggable, boy wonder genius.

“Aidan would like to drink the milk we serve here in the classroom and not the milk you send from home. He says your milk tastes yucky. We serve one percent here. It’s not the organic milk-in-a-box you send in, but it is still very good for him”

If I had been drinking milk, it would have come out my nose.

Oh, and for the record, Leah caved like a faulty mine shaft. I love you dear, but I hate that milk too.

VICTORY!!!!! (Well, sort of)

In what could be a serious blow to Pastafarians everywhere, the Vatican announced today that Darwin's Theory of Evolution is compatible with Christianity.

Can you hear the pin drop in Kansas?

This will hopefully start to raise the collective IQ of the mid-western United States. Someday, I'll dance around the crumbling remains of the Intelligent Design Museum.

With a dinosaur bone through my nose.

Stop Tagging Me. I Bruise Easily.

This has been floating around Facebook for weeks. I don't do long posts on Facebook, and I need blog material. So . . .


25 Things About Me that you really don’t care to know, but will skim over anyway to find the juicy bits.

25. I’m left handed.
24. I’m an only child.
23. I love my kids more than life.
22. I love my wife more than my kids.
21. I once had to make an emergency landing in an airplane.
20. I love to sing.
19. I once sang a solo in St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York City.
18. At one point in my life, my parents and my voice instructor told me that if I wanted to, I could pursue a professional singing career. This was long before American Idol.
19. I really, really miss my Mom.
18. I sucked my thumb until I was five years old.
17. I once played a practical joke on a friend that shut down my college administration building for an entire day.
16. My favorite color is somewhere in the shade of Caribbean blue.
15. My dream is to own a castle in France or Italy.
14. I have rowed through the canals of Venice.
13. I love to sail, but have never owned my own boat. Yet.
12. I am almost guaranteed to have prostate cancer at some point in my life.
11. I fancy myself a guitar player.
10. I do not dress well enough. Most of the time I don’t care.
9. I once snuck onto the field at Fenway Park and ran to first base.
8. I once tried to break up with Leah, but she wouldn’t let me.
7. I was a lifeguard in high school and saved my cousin from drowning.
6. I love good Irish whiskey.
5. My favorite food on the planet is lobster.
4. I was accepted at one of the most difficult colleges in the country to get into and then left after four months.
3. I love what I do. Building things makes me happy.
2. I had a really wonderful childhood and hope I can provide the same for my boys.
1. The hardest part about living in Buffalo for me now is being away from the ocean.

New Digs

We finally got ourselves into the new place this weekend. There is still much work to be done (like actually finding all my clothes), but at least we’re in our own space now. The geek in me won’t be content until the surround sound is working again. Hey, you gotta have goals, right?

It was like having Christmas all over again for the boys. They gleefully unpacked all their stuffed animals, toys, and books that have been buried in the basement for the last month. Sam was very methodical about it. His books are all neatly arranged on the bottom shelf of his bookcase and his animals are piled high at the foot of his bed. And as of this morning, his floor is covered in Legos and Lincoln Logs to the point where you cannot walk with bare feet for fear of receiving a puncture wound. Just like old times.

Aidan and Noah were more excited about their new bunk beds than their books and toys. At rest time yesterday, they discovered that their stuffed animals could be passed back and forth through the small spaces between the mattress and the headboard. This made for an extremely entertaining, albeit completely unsuccessful rest time. Meh. Oh, and they too succeeded in burying their floor under Lincoln Logs constructions.

John, Gina, and Ginny came over for the Superbowl last night, and we christened our new home with Muffelettas. These are the greatest sandwiches ever conceived. Your arteries will harden just be making them.

Now that I think about it, the twins really christened the new living room yesterday afternoon. When I rearranged the furniture to try out yet another possible configuration, Noah came out of his room. He looked around at the open space and his eyes went wide.

“Daddy! This is great! I’m gonna skip.”

And he did. In circles. For 10 minutes straight.